


Role Model

by nostalgia



Category: Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Aliens, Cohabitation, Daleks - Freeform, Doctor/Master - Freeform, Euphemistic Dancing, F/M, Incompatible Moralities, Mild Peril, Non-Euphemistic Dancing, The Oncoming Storm, Trying to Quit Being Evil, Twee Romantic Moments, artron energy, post-s10 AU, time lord/time lord, twissy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 08:51:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14766419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nostalgia/pseuds/nostalgia
Summary: Missy is trying her best to be good, but is the Doctor really the best person to be helping her with this?





	Role Model

“But that would kill everyone and everything within a fifty-mile radius of the palace,” said Missy, doing the necessary calculations in her head in the space of a moment. 

“Fifty-two miles,” said the Doctor, ever the pedant. He stood with his hands hovering over the controls, a worried expression working its way across his eyebrows. 

“Are you absolutely certain we should do this?” asked Missy.

The Doctor looked at her, somewhat desperately. “I don't think that we have another option,” he said. “Do you?”

 

One hundred and twenty-seven days earlier, Missy hummed the _Teletubbies_ theme tune under her breath as she smeared a thick coating of apricot jam (the good kind) onto her toast. She knew without looking that the Doctor was staring at her, but his stares had never bothered her. If anything she quite enjoyed being the focus of his attention. But he was also dragging the spoon around the bottom of his teacup as he watched her, and the noise was irritating. 

“What are our plans for today?” she asked pleasantly, and to her great relief the noise slowed to a halt as he spoke. 

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat, “I thought we could spend some time in the library. I have some books on ethics that might -”

Missy drew in a deep breath, keeping herself calm. “Just because I didn't care for those books, that doesn't mean I haven't read them.” She bit into her toast, glaring at him across the kitchen table. 

He nodded. “I know that, but you read them so you could make fun of them, not so you could learn from them.”

Missy swallowed her mouthful of jam-covered toast and shrugged. “I had the finest education this universe can provide, and I have a very clear memory of most of it. I don't need to revise for the morality exam. Although,” she added, “if you'd just give me a written test on the merits of goodness at least I'd know what I'm aiming for.”

“It's a process,” said the Doctor, patiently, “and part of that process involves accepting that there's no predetermined goal. I know you can be good, but you have to keep going and reflect on what you've learned.”

“You're worse than Borusa,” said Missy through her last mouthful of toast. “At least he was older than me and therefore a tiny bit wiser. You're three weeks my junior and don't you forget it.”

The Doctor sighed, exasperated. “Missy, I'm only trying to help you.”

“I know,” she said with a nod, “and I'm probably grateful, but can we take a day off from the morality lectures? Why don't we try fixing your chameleon circuit today?” 

The Doctor shook his head. “If my TARDIS won't change shape for me then she certainly won't do it for you. She hates you.” 

“Your TARDIS may not like me but it knows a good mechanic when it sees one.”

The Doctor coughed. “And last time...” He trailed off. 

“What?” asked Missy, coldly. “Are you still upset about what happened on Logopolis? I'm sure I must have apologised for that already.”

“You haven't,” said the Doctor. 

Missy sniffed and lifted her teacup. “Alright, I'm sorry. I didn't really mean to destroy so much of the universe anyway.” She sipped at her tea.

“And?” he prompted.

She replaced her teacup in its saucer. “And I'm sorry about stealing Nyssa's father's body. Happy now?”

“You pushed me off a radio telescope,” said the Doctor.

She shook her head. “No, you let go.”

The Doctor sat back in his chair. “I did not!”

“Yes, you did. You could have held on longer but...” Missy shrugged. “Maybe you just didn't like those new pets of yours.”

“Companions,” he corrected automatically.

“Whatever you want to call them. They were quite a dreary bunch.” She pondered for a moment, then added, “I suppose the Australian one was quite feisty. What happened to her?”

The Doctor looked guilty. 

Missy raised her eyebrows. “Dead?”

“No!” He tapped his fingers on the edge of the kitchen table. “She left on her own. She said it wasn't fun any more.”

“I knew I liked her for a reason,” said Missy, approvingly. She saw the Doctor's expression. “I said I'd be good, I didn't say I'd be _nice_.” She took a moment to finish her tea. “We should take the day off, go somewhere,” she said, pushing cup and saucer towards the centre of the table. “Somewhere calm, and relaxing, and tranquil. Somewhere uneventful.”

“The Eye of Orion?” the Doctor suggested.

“Please, no, I hate that place. It's like Wales on a wet Bank Holiday afternoon.” 

“I like Wales,” said the Doctor. “Though I suppose it's a bit odd that so much of it looks like alien planets.”

“Just choose somewhere quiet,” said Missy, standing up as she spoke.

 

Missy muttered a few choice Gallifreyan obscenities as she picked the lock on the door. It was a surprisingly sturdy lock. At times like this – though she would never admit it to anyone – she thought that the Doctor had the right idea carrying that stupid screwdriver with him everywhere he went. 

Finally the lock clicked open. She replaced the hairpin in her nest of hair and pushed on the door. “It's me,” she announced as it swung open.

The Doctor looked up from his seat on the floor of the cell. “I was starting to wonder if you had run off without me,” he said. 

“Don't be bitchy,” said Missy without irritation. She knelt beside him. “Sonic screwdriver?” she asked. 

“Coat pocket.”

She reached into his pocket and retrieved the device, then used it to unfasten the manacles around his wrists. 

“How did my trial go?” asked the Doctor as she worked. 

“Not well. They decided to burn you as a witch.”

“Maybe if they had let me have a lawyer I could have got away with community service.”

“Well, it's moot now,” said Missy, “I've rescued you.” She picked up the discarded chains. “Should we keep these?”

The Doctor frowned. “What for?”

Missy rolled her eyes. “Stop pretending to be so vanilla, I'm the last person that lie will work on and you know it.” She smiled. “Remember that time with the feathers and the ice cubes, round the back of the Panopticon?”

The Doctor blushed. “Stop it. We're not doing anything like that until I know I can trust you.” He got to his feet and offered her a hand to help her up. 

“Effusive praise will do as a thank you,” she said, rising to her feet.

The Doctor looked at her seriously. “Did you hurt anyone?”

“I knocked out the guard on your cell, but the only lasting damage will be to his ego.”

The Doctor nodded, apparently satisfied with this. “Thanks for the rescue.”

Missy waved a hand modestly. “It was nothing.”

“Even so, thank you.”

She turned her head to hide the smile that she failed to repress. “We should get out of here before someone raises the alarm.”

The Doctor headed to the door and she followed him, light on her feet. 

 

Missy sat in a patched-up old armchair in the music room, sketching idly on a pad of lined paper as the Doctor tuned his guitar on the other side of the room. She felt calm and content, and the tuning noises were oddly comforting. 

“What are you writing?” he asked as he finished his task and propped the guitar up in its stand. 

“I'm not writing,” she said, without looking up. “I'm drawing.”

“Then what are you drawing?”

Missy considered her options and settled on telling the truth. “You.” She looked up at him. “Don't look so surprised, you're relatively decorative and this is quite a dull room.”

After a moment's silence he nodded. “Can I see it?”

“No.”

“Please?”

She sighed dramatically. “Oh, if you must.” She held out the pad of A4 paper and waited for him to take it. Missy watched the play of his features as he looked over her artwork. She knew what he was seeing – a line-drawing of his current face, with a few hints of his previous selves. It was how they saw each other, a portrait of a Time Lord that only a Time Lord could have created. 

“This is good,” he said, sounding surprised. 

Missy shrugged. “I know.”

His eyebrows headed upwards and she knew that he had seen the only element she was even slightly ashamed of – their names in Old High Gallifreyan, entwined and looped around each other. A thing that lovesick teenagers would do. Missy stared at him defiantly, daring him to say something about it.

He blinked a few times and handed back the pad of paper without a word. Missy narrowed her eyes at his back as he turned to leave the room. Rehabilitated or not she would kill him if he laughed at her. 

The Doctor stopped and looked back at her as he opened the door that led back into the endless corridors of the ship. He cleared his throat. She waited. 

“It's mutual,” he said, quietly, as he left the room. 

 

They didn't discuss the incident, of course, but Missy felt it hanging in the air between them for the next few days. It was, in fact, almost getting to the point where she wanted to mention it just to clear the air when a distraction arrived in the form of a disaster.

Missy stood in the alien control centre, scowling at the readouts on the screen in front of of her. “Black holes have an event horizon for a _reason_ , you know,” she told the assembled (and very worried) scientists.

The tallest one blinked a pair of scarlet eyes at her. “There were legends, you see, that the Time Lords -”

“And if the Time Lords jumped into a volcano would you follow them?” snapped Missy. “I expect you would. And then you'd complain that you didn't know you were supposed to be able to regenerate. And frankly, you can shove -”

“Missy,” said the Doctor, appearing beside her and laying a calming hand on her arm. “They didn't know this would happen. They were just curious.”

The alien nodded. “Yes, it was your assistant says.”

The Doctor sighed. “I'm not -” he began, but stopped when he realised nobody was paying any attention to him. 

“He's not my assistant,” said Missy, helpfully.

“Thank you,” said the Doctor. 

“He's my pet.” The Doctor glared at her and she patted his arm. “Heel, boy.”

“You're loving this,” he muttered. 

Missy nodded. “Of course I am. Aren't you? I thought you liked blatant sexism? You certainly spend enough time in the less civilised eras of Earth history.” She put her hands on her hips. “If you were a feminist -” she began.

“I _am_ a feminist!”

“Well, you're also a hypocrite.”

“Missy,” said the Doctor, obviously trying to avoid an argument and to distract from his own failings, “can we get back to worrying about the impending destruction of this planetary system?”

“If you insist.”

The crowd of alien women watched them, likely confused by Missy's tolerance for backchat from her male. Missy turned back to the controls. “The calculations are extremely complicated, I'll need at least an hour.”

“We don't _have_ an hour,” said the Doctor. 

“Yes, I know that,” she replied. “I was just trying to make it look a bit more impressive when I save the world in twenty-five minutes. Give or take.” She gestured towards the equipment on the other side of the room. “You can take care of the gravity situation.”

The Doctor hesitated. 

“What?” asked Missy. She followed his gaze to a nearby scientist. “Is she really going to persist in sexually harassing you at a time like this? I don't understand some people. A bit of perspective would be nice.” 

“I just don't need the distraction,” said the Doctor. 

Missy nodded. “Fine, I'll make sure you're left alone.”

She climbed up to stand on a nearby chair. She cleared her throat. “Can I have your attention, please? Quick announcement.” When she had the audience she wanted she pointed at the Doctor. “He's mine. If any of you so much as look at him the wrong way I'll remove your eyes and then boil them in your blood.” She smiled down at the Doctor. “See?” she said, at a much lower volume, “I do care about you.”

“Thanks,” said the Doctor, though he didn't look very grateful.

 

He appeared at her side again when she was almost finished her work. 

“I've been thinking,” he began. 

“There's a novelty,” said Missy, not taking her eyes off the computer screen. 

He sighed. “Could you drop the overstated hostility for a moment? This is important.”

She turned her head to look at him. “What?”

“We don't have to vaporise the collapsing star.” He paused, watching her closely. “We could stabilise it, let them keep it.

Missy frowned. “Why?”

“So they can use it as an energy source, obviously. It worked for Gallifrey, it'll work for them as well.” 

Missy shook her head. “They couldn't be trusted with that sort of power. Who would make sure they didn't use it to start an oppressive pan-galactic empire? What if they -” She stopped. “This is a test, isn't it?” 

“I don't know what you mean,” he said. He was generally quite a good liar, but Missy had always been a better one. 

She closed her eyes for a moment and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Doctor, this really isn't the time.”

“This is the perfect time,” he insisted. “The decisions we make under pressure are often the most important ones.”

Missy looked up at him with a steady gaze. “We're going to destroy this star. And then we're going to leave everything else the way we found it and go off on another merry jaunt across time and space.”

The Doctor nodded, apparently satisfied. Missy went back to her work.

 

As her reward for saving the planet, Missy was excused from the tedious study of ethics for a few days. She was glad to get away from the books, and didn't even protest when then Doctor decided to let his TARDIS choose their destination. They deserved some fun, he said. 

The TARDIS materialised on a cruise ship surrounded by light green water as far as the Gallifreyan eye could see. The weather was pleasant, not too hot and not too cool. Missy had to grudgingly admit that the Doctor's TARDIS had chosen well. 

They sat in a large ballroom on board the boat, drinking lemonade. Missy was enjoying the music, sedate as it was. 

“We should dance.”

Missy looked over at the Doctor. “Dance?” she repeated.

“Why not?” he asked. 

She looked around the room. Other people were dancing, yes, but those people weren't Time Lords and didn't have a reputation to think of. 

After a moment of uncertainty she nodded. “Alright,” she said, offering her hand as she stood. They moved to the edge of the dance floor, lemonade abandoned. Assuming the universally-accepted 'waltz' positions, they moved. 

“Missy,” said the Doctor when she stepped on his foot, “it's the male partner who leads. It's traditional,” he added when she narrowed her eyes at him. 

She looked at him sceptically, but then – to her own surprise as much as his – she acquiesced. “You lead then,” she said, experimenting with compromise. 

They moved in slow circles, occasionally bumping into other couples (which wouldn't have happened if Missy had been leading, of course). It wasn't bad. If anything it was actually quite enjoyable. Missy found herself smiling. 

“Spin me,” she said.

“There's no spinning in this dance,” said the Doctor. 

“I don't care, I want to spin under your arm.”

He rolled his eyes but lifted his arm for her to twirl underneath it. 

“Now throw me in the air,” she said, if only to see how far she could push him.

“Missy, it's not that sort of dance.”

“Then it's a boring dance,” she said, letting go and stepping away from him. “I want more lemonade,” she announced, heading for the bar.

She waited impatiently for her turn to order. She was trying to be good these days, which wasn't always easy, especially when people were clearly cutting in front of her. She sighed.

She felt a sharp tug on her sleeve and turned to see the Doctor standing behind her, clearly agitated. 

“We have to leave,” he said. “Now.”

She pulled her arm from his grip. “I'm still having fun,” she informed him. 

He leaned in closer. “This ship is going to sink,” he whispered in her ear. 

Missy looked up at him. “How do you know that?” she asked quietly. 

“I found out where and when we are, and the name of the ship. This is the day it hits an old sea-mine and goes down in flames. No survivors.”

She squinted at him. “If this is another of your tests I'm going to -”

“I didn't know where we were, I promise. But we have to leave. Now.”

Missy concentrated her higher senses. She felt the stiff, unrelenting barrier of a fixed point in time. Before she could process the sensation, the Doctor grabbed her hand and pulled her along behind him as he headed back to the TARDIS.

As they hurried back to where they had parked she heard something loud and high-pitched coming from somewhere further down the corridor. She pulled away from the Doctor, stopped at a likely door, and opened it to peer into a darkened room. 

With a weary sigh she crossed the room and lifted a chubby infant from its cot. She didn't approve of this sort of nonsense but apparently her newfound conscience wasn't bothered by such trifles as her own impending watery death. She stepped back into the corridor, holding the child carefully against her chest. 

The Doctor stared at her. “Missy, there were no survivors.” From the look on his face he wasn't enjoying having to play this role in the scenario. “We can't change history.”

Missy stood her ground. “Nothing has to change. He's too young to remember any of this. If we drop him off at an orphanage on the other side of the galaxy nobody needs to know where he came from.”

The Doctor didn't try to argue with her. He nodded, happy to let her save the child from certain death if it wasn't going to damage the time-line. “Come on then,” he said, moving, “we have to get out of here before the ship hits that mine.”

Missy followed him back to the TARDIS with the child held tightly in her arms.

 

That night Missy couldn't sleep. Throwing the covers from the bed, she got up and headed out into the corridor. She wasn't even slightly surprised to find the Doctor there, halfway to her room. Apparently they had both had the same idea.

“I'm not your prisoner any more,” she said. “So you don't have any good excuses left.”

“I wasn't trying to think of one.”

She nodded. She stepped closer to him, paying close attention to the flush of his skin and the width of his pupils.

“Do you trust me now?” she asked, breathless, hopeful. By way of an answer he closed the gap between them and kissed her. 

Missy pulled away, giggling, when his hands started to wander. “At least _pretend_ to have a shred of dignity,” she said with mock severity. “We're Time Lords, not animals. There's no rush.”

She spun on her heel and headed back to her room without waiting to check he was following her. She didn't need to. 

 

“Nothing's changed,” she said with a gasp as they fell onto the bed. “It's not like we haven't done this before.” 

He nodded, impatient, tugging at her blouse until she shrugged it off, slipping from the soft fabric and tossing it into the corner of the room. With a quick shove she turned them over, straddling him as though these bodies had done this a million times before. 

When their clothes were finally discarded she pressed a finger to his lips. She closed her eyes, focussing her thoughts, and felt the warm chill of artron energy - regeneration energy - moving up to the surface of her body. Opening her eyes, she looked down at him, smiling. His mouth twitched open as the golden glow touched his skin. 

Missy stared intently as he suckled on her fingertips. Sharing artron energy like this was illegal on Gallifrey, of course, like everything else that was fun. Not that this had ever stopped them before. 

After an age she pulled her hand away, leaned down, and kissed him as she slowed down time.

 

“Don't steal the covers,” she said when they finally decided to sleep. 

“I won't,” he said, settling down behind her, “I got out of the habit. River wouldn't stand for it.” He stopped, lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. 

“I'm not jealous,” said Missy. She didn't have to see his face to know that he looked sceptical. “I'm not,” she insisted. “She died. They always die. And we don't.”

The Doctor took a moment to reply. “That's almost romantic,” he said, sounding surprised. 

“I've always been a romantic,” she said, “but now I realise that offering you half the universe wasn't the most appropriate way to show affection.” 

“You're only realising that _now_? Why did you think I kept turning you down?”

“I thought you were just playing hard to get.” She heard him laugh. 

“Well I wasn't,” he said, wrapping an arm around her waist and kissing her shoulder. After a pause he added, quietly, “I really wasn't.”

“Let's go to sleep now,” said Missy, suppressing a yawn, “I'm tired. We can discuss our centuries-old relationship issues in the morning.”

 

Missy woke first after a healthy three hours of sleep. She turned onto her side to look at the Doctor. He looked peaceful, drawing in slow breaths as he slept. He also looked vulnerable. Without meaning to Missy started listing ways to kill him: suffocation with a pillow; a knife plunged into one of his hearts; perhaps a needle full of... She shook her head to clear it. 

She shuffled across the mattress towards him, laid a hand on his chest and leaned down to kiss him. She moved away when she felt him starting to respond. 

“Good morning to you too,” he said, voice rough with sleep as he opened his eyes. 

She decided against telling him about her unwanted thoughts of violence. It would only upset him, after all. Instead she smiled as he reached for her, pulling him over her and then moaning encouragement as he slid down her body pressing light kisses against her skin. 

She stroked his hair as she settled between her legs, and tried not to think about murder.

 

They trailed through a market on an alien world (she had forgotten the name already), holding hands so they didn't lose each other in the bustling crowd. The contact felt good and it made it easier for her to tug him away when he got distracted by shiny nonsense on a stall.

“Wait,” he said, as she tried to pull him along behind her. 

Missy stopped and turned. “What is it this time?” she asked, not as irritated as her words might imply.

“Do you like this?” he asked, holding up a silver ring with his free hand. 

Missy shook her head. “Don't be silly, it wouldn't fit you.”

“Not for me,” he clarified, “for you.”

She looked at the ring again. The stone was a bit showy, but the colours shifted interestingly in the light. It wasn't _completely_ tasteless, she decided. “Do you have any money?” she asked, pointedly. 

The Doctor blinked. “Um.”

She sighed. “Of course you don't.” She let go of his hand to reach into her pockets. “I've got some, if you insist on spending it on a bit of shiny rock.”

He nodded. Then he frowned. “Where did you get local currency from?”

“Don't ask if you don't want to know,” she said, with dignity. She turned to the alien behind the stall. “How much?” Missy dealt with the exchange of bits of shiny metal for another bit of shiny metal and then held out her hand to the Doctor. 

He turned her hand over and slipped his new acquisition onto her ring-finger. 

Missy held her hand out in front of her to see how it suited her. “It looks like an engagement ring,” she said critically.

The Doctor grinned. “How do you know it isn't?” 

He turned before she could react, and she had to follow him into the crowd in case he got lost. When she caught hold of him again she had to hide a little smile while she told him off for disappearing. 

 

Missy pressed herself flat against a wall, keeping out of sight as a group of Daleks slid past. She glanced at the Doctor, who swore. Well, that was another nice day out ruined. Typical. When she judged it safe she moved away from the wall. “We'd better get out of here,” she said, half-whispering. 

The Doctor shook his head. “We can't just leave the Daleks to take over this planet.”

“Why not?”

He just raised his eyebrows at her. 

“Don't look at me like that,” she admonished. “I know why not.” 

“I've got a plan,” he told her. 

Missy stared at him. Of course he had a plan. She remembered that to the Daleks he was literally legendary. “They call you the Oncoming Storm,” she said quietly. “They hate you.”

The Doctor shrugged. “So? They're Daleks, they hate everyone they meet. They hate you too.” He nudged her. “You should be proud of that.”

“Yes,” she said, distracted by rapidly-multiplying concerns for her own future. “But -” The Doctor pulled her back against the wall, a hand over her mouth to keep her quiet. She fumed silently as another group of Daleks moved past their hiding-place.

 

The Doctor did indeed have a plan. It was a good plan, all things considered. Missy listened as he outlined her role in it, occasionally stopping him to question him on the details. She could see it unfolding her mind's eye, and was fairly certain that it would actually work. 

“Right,” he said, getting to the end of his explanations, “I'll make my way to the mother-ship and you can deal with the ones already on the surface.”

Missy bit her lip.

“What's wrong?” he asked, frowning. 

She shook her head. “I can't.”

He looked confused. “What?”

“I can't kill them,” she said.

“They're Daleks!” 

“I know that. But I'm not ready. I don't know where to draw the line.”

“They're _Daleks_ ,” he repeated. “Don't you remember what they did to your -”

Missy slapped him, hard, before he could finish his sentence.

“Of course I remember,” she said coldly as he rubbed his cheek. “How dare you suggest that I don't.”

“Sorry,” he muttered, and he probably meant it. Missy glared at him anyway. 

“It's a long time since I've killed anything,” she said. “What if this is just the start?”

“Missy,” he said, taking her hand. “You've changed. You can do this, and it's not going to harm your rehabilitation. You can trust me.” 

She weighed the options for a few moments. They did have to liberate this planet somehow, and that couldn't be done without killing enough Daleks to scare the rest away. 

“I'll help you kill them,” she said, finally, “but if I go off the rails again it's your fault.”

 

Missy shook slightly as she worked on her device. Beside her a dead Dalek smouldered and fizzed. She had forgotten how easy they were to kill when you knew what you were doing. 

She paused in her work. Looking around, she toyed with the ring the Doctor had given her. It didn't quite fit, and she could twist it round her finger quite easily. The movement was a welcome distraction. 

“Almost done,” she said to herself, picking up two lengths of wire. She could do this. The Doctor believed in her, and that had to mean something. But then, he had faith in almost everyone, and it was often misplaced. He was, after all, an idiot on several fundamental levels. She started listing those levels in her head to procrastinate on her task. 

A Dalek trundled around the corner and stopped before her with its gun-arm aimed between her hearts. “HALT!”

Missy touched the two ends of wire together. 

 

Missy moved slowly as they made their way back to the TARDIS with the Daleks defeated for another day. Every now and then the Doctor had to stop walking until she caught up, but he didn't say anything. For once he seemed to have realised the value of leaving her to her own thoughts.

When they reached the TARDIS he waited at the door, prompting her with a silence that needed to be filled. Missy took a breath.

“I liked it,” she said, calmly. “Killing the Daleks. I liked it. It felt good.”

“I'm sorry.”

She looked up at him, meeting his gaze easily. “Are you really?”

He touched her arm. “You'll get past this,” he said, confidently.

Missy shrugged and pushed the TARDIS door open. 

 

“Are you absolutely certain we should do this?” asked Missy.

The Doctor looked at her, somewhat desperately. “I don't think that we have another option,” he said. “Do you?”

“You're right,” she said, out of ideas. “Press the button.”

He hesitated. “I don't think Bill would let me,” he said.

“Well then, it's a good thing she's not here, isn't it?” She studied his expression. “If this is another of your stupid tests, I'll -”

“It's not a test,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I really don't know what to do.”

“Yes,” she replied, “you do. Your morality is as grey as your eyebrows, but you've got a good grasp of cause and effect. Pressing the button saves the planet, so do it.” She reached out. “Do you want me to do it?”

“I'll do it,” he said, pushing her hand away from the big red button. “I just... it would have been nice if there was another way.”

“The universe isn't nice,” said Missy. She found herself wavering again. “Just get on with it,” she said, eager to get it over with.

He nodded, and pressed the button. 

 

The Doctor paced the room behind Missy as she packed her things into a bag.

“You don't have to leave,” he said for the fifteenth time.

Missy shoved another book into her bag. “I certainly can't stay. I can't live this life until I've forgotten what my old one was like.” 

“Please,” he said, sounding desperate. “All I want is for us to be together.”

“And we will be,” she assured him. “But not yet.” Satisfied with her packing, she zipped up the bag and lifted it off the bed. “I'll keep in touch. I know you mean well, and you started me along the right path. You're just not really that qualified to help me with this stage.” She pulled herself upwards and kissed his cheek. “I'll be back,” she promised, “this isn't the end.”

The Doctor nodded silently as she stepped back from him. He looked at her for a long time, as though committing her to memory. “Do you want me to carry your bag?” he asked eventually.

Missy made herself smile. “That would be very kind, thank you.” She handed her bag over and followed him from the room.


End file.
